Words cannot begin to express how very sorry I am to have left this story for so many days. My only excuse is that I forgot that it existed. It was only recently when I was scrolling through my profile when I saw the title, and when I was reminded of its existence.

Hopefully, my Muse will keep on making regular appearances from here on, and then this story shall be updated. I apologize if my language or writing style seem rather degraded - my language has somewhat slipped in the past year.

Once again, dearest readers, this is to you.

And of course, reviews are always much appreciated.

Chapter 7: Hubris

"Bella, darling."

The voice was deep, rich in timbre. The speaker was beckoning her, and although outwardly he seemed charming and complaisant enough, she could sense the warning in his voice. Pasting a simpering smile on her face, she moved to his side. "Father," she muttered, dark eyes glinting wickedly. Perhaps she would disobey him after all.

Cygnus regarded her warily. His eldest had never been the most obedient, and even now, he worried that she would take it into her head to be willful and destroy the wonderful opportunity that he was so painstakingly cultivating. He gently placed a hand on her arm. To anyone else, it would have seemed like a doting father's caress – she knew that he was warning her to behave, or the repercussions would be severe.

She directed a charming smile towards his companions. "Mrs. Rosier," the worlds rolled off her tongue smoothly. "How have you been? I'm pleased to see you back in England. I had heard that you were recovering in Naples."

"Well, my dear, what should I say? I just can't keep away from dear old England after all…"

Bella ignored the older woman, her eyes rapidly scanning the crowd for someone she knew. The old woman's doddering prattle interested her not at all, and it was only with effort that she could continue to smile towards her companion. Her father's hand on her arm was a constant reminder of how she was expected to act, and although she chafed at this use of authority, she could not fault him for it. He was, after all, her father, and with the laws of the day, he had full control over her until the day she married.

Bored, she twirled a strand of her hair around one bejeweled finger, wondering why Cygnus had seen it fit to tear her from the appetizer-table and subject her to the rambling tales of this old crone. The woman in front of her was a middle-aged matron, a rather staid and proper lady, who had recently been in ill health. Even now, the pall of disease hung heavy over her sweaty brow and thin face. Surely, Cygnus did not expect her to comfort and soothe this old lady? Andromeda would be much better suited to the purpose.

"Bella, did you know that Evan has been performing spectacularly at Quidditch recently?"

Ah. So that's why. The moment the words left her father's lips, she was suddenly acutely aware of the way her companion's eyes slid over her, probing her for a reaction. She had to play her cards right if she wanted to be safe.

She let loose a girlish giggle. "Oh yes, Evan always was so very good at Quidditch – Lucius says that he is the very best player on the team. I had wished to congratulate him for the spectacular victory over Hufflepuff the other day, but…" she lowered her eyes modestly.

Her reaction is satisfactory: she can feel her father's approving pressure on her arm. The wizened old lady in front of her smiles, evidently mollified by her response. "Indeed, his father is also quite pleased with his performance. And of course, he is the best." Her chest swelled with maternal pride. "The other boys on the team are so… ordinary. Only Evan truly shines out. And goodness knows, does he work for it! Every moment of the day spent on a broom." She sighed affectionately, eyes lighting up at the memory of her son. "But then of course, that is what genius does to you, of course."

Bella smiles, swallowing the bile and disgust rising in her throat. If Evan Rosier was a genius at anything, she would eat her favourite purple hat. The blond, heavy-armed Chaser was reasonably talented at the tricky sport of Quidditch, but his innate insipidity made him more stupid than anything else. Instead of voicing her rather vitriolic opinion of him, she instead smiled winningly and said "I do believe that Slytherin will win the Cup this year. And it will be all because of him, of course."

Only those familiar with her could sense the sarcasm flowing so close to the surface. Cygnus' grip on her arm tightened, even as his smile did. Mrs. Rosier, however, could see nothing wrong with the statement, blind with love as she was. "Of course, of course," she nodded sagely. "He has worked so hard for it, my poor dear. You know, Bellatrix," she broke off, eyeing the beautiful young girl knowingly. "Perhaps Evan could come and visit you this summer. He would surely appreciate your company." She smiled at Cygnus, a private smile shared by two parents who are happily indulging in matchmaking.

Bella felt bile slipping into her mouth once more, and quickly controlled her reaction to the thought of having to spend time with Evan Rosier. "That would be lovely, Mrs. Rosier," she said demurely. "I'm sure we shall be able to have very… engaging conversation."

Her emphasis on the word caused Cygnus to start grinding his teeth, but, as usual, the significance flew right above Bromilda Rosier's head. Instead, she laughed with a strange and high nervousness. "Oh, I'm sure you will," she nodded, reaching out with a hand to stroke Bella's cheek. The latter held still to avoid reflexively stepping back, and allowed the diseased, sweaty hand to stroke her rigid face. "Such a beautiful child, Cygnus… yes, I'm sure you and Evan shall have very engaging conversations." She winked slyly at the girl, then wandered off, apparently in search for other matrons of society.

The moment she was gone, Bella tore her arm from Cygnus' grip. "Are you done matching me up, or am I to continue accompanying you like a passive mule, on display for all the greedy old women in here?"

Cygnus smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. His stony glance landed on his eldest. "Language, daughter mine," he breathed. "Remember, I am your father, and you shall obey me. Otherwise, the rod will illustrate the truth." He stared at her until she dropped her eyes, intimidated by his hard glare.

Her voice was very small. "Of course, father." She was careful to keep it neutral to prevent her rage from spilling out and poisoning her words. His punishments were severe, and if she was not careful, she would be at the wrong end of his wand once again.

He smiled once again, eyes trailing over the venue in pursuit of one or the other eligible opportunity. "Wander around if you must, but make sure to stay within my eyesight. If I call you, you must come." He let go of her, and immediately, she curtseyed, and then slipped into the mass of bodies within the room.

It was spring, the heavy scent of apple blossoms permeating the air. The sky was clear and the breeze was brisk, and slightly cool. The April sun shone out somewhat weakly, dispensing just enough sunlight to warm the world enough for a jaunt outside. The trees rustled invitingly in the distance, the cool mist amidst them refusing to dissipate, even in the middle of the day. The grass was slightly wet with soft dew, and her satin sandals were stained with their delicate green juice. The hem of her dress was wet with the slippery moisture moisture, and her face flushed from the brisk wind blowing across the wide lawn. In contrast to most other women there, Bella did not wear a hat, instead allowing her wild hair to have free reign, the untidy strands blowing this way and that. Amidst a sea of pastels, she wore a daring emerald gown, cut modestly, but designed in such a way that it would provoke the imagination of the viewer, no matter how much it covered. She stood out as a pearl would among the endless grains of sand on a beach, her natural beauty and easy grace attracting all human eyes.

It was spring, and the Malfoys had seen fit to give a garden party, seizing the opportunity to show off their magnificent flower beds and carefully-tended garden. She could see Abraxas standing in the middle of the room, laughing loudly and clutching a half-empty wineglass in one hand with almost frantic desperation. He was already inebriated, and had begun to let go, as was shown with his overt familiarity with his companions, all of whom were young girls who could not yet be out of Hogwarts. The Malfoy patriarch's fondness for young girls was not unknown, and although he usually limited his escapades to the dark corners of Knockturn Alley or the privacy of a brothel room, it seemed that intoxication brought out the worst in him.

She smiled disdainfully. At least Cygnus wasn't like that. Nobody could ever truthfully proclaim that the old man was faithful to his flighty wife, but at least, he reserved his passions for women who were slightly more… developed.

She tore her eyes away from the disgraceful sight, sure that sooner or later, a slip would happen, and that tonight Malfoy Manor would be alight with the shouts of Mrs. Malfoy expressing her displeasure with her husband. It was a common-enough sight, and one that roused whispers whenever it happened, despite the same having occurred numerous times earlier.

She passed through the crowd, ignoring the young men and women who reached out for her and called her name. All of them wanted the glory of being associated with Bellatrix Black, even if just for a few moments. Not only was she a Black, the closest name to royalty, but she was Bellatrix, the ice princess, sculpted from marble and as cold as the stone during the dead of winter. She was unreachable, unattainable. To hold her attention for a few minutes was to be deemed worthy.

She pointedly ignored them all, only breaking her reserve once to glare at a young girl who had dared to actually grasp her forearm. The unwitting offender shrunk away, burning under Bella's cold glare, full of black fire and venom. Tolerant as she was, the idea of her person being grasped was something that did not appeal to the eldest Black child. Reserve was something that came naturally to her, and she coldly disassociated with everything that she deemed unworthy. To be touched against her will, by someone who was not on the same social standing as her, or who did not elicit the same respect, either by the virtue or family or by personal character, was intolerable – she would not accept it.

A hand fell on her shoulder, and she turned, fully intending to convey her displeasure to the offender, through the use of words if wands were disallowed. She swallowed her ire, however, when she saw who had taken the liberty.

"Lucius," she greeted, with a tilted nod. "Lovely party." Her eyes flickered sardonically to where his father stood, one of the old man's hands now perched perilously low on the backside of one of the more attractive acolytes who surrounded him.

His eyes gazed at her heavily, palest grey. "I see your humour is as charming as ever, Bella," he drawled, his tone rich with tolerant amusement.

She smirked, flushed with pleasure. Despite what she would profess, she was glad to see Lucius. He was one of the few people whose company she could tolerate, nay, even enjoy. She fell naturally into step beside him. "I have just disengaged myself from old Mrs. Rosier, who was very kindly telling me of how very accomplished her son was at Quidditch." Her eyes glittered with malice.

Lucius snorted, his elegant fingers wrapped around the stem of a clear wineglass, filled to the brim with the finest Elvish wine. "Mrs. Rosier is disposed to think rather too well of her son. He clings to the position just barely. This year, if another one proves himself worthy, then he will surely lose the status of being on the team."

She twisted one of the many rings that adorned her fingers. "He wants to see me, you know. Rosier. He wants to call on me. That's what he sent mummy dearest for. To ask me in his stead." She laughed carelessly, filling the air with the music of her laughter.

Lucius snorted delicately, surveying the crowd that filled his lawn with an imperiousness that could only be worn by those of their stature. "He always was a coward." She knew that his language would have been much stronger if she had not been around, and although she chafed at this discriminatory treatment of her, she could not help but admire his inborn chivalry. It showed breeding, something that not many of those present on the beautiful lawns today could profess to possessing.

She let out a loose laugh. "Well, let him join the list, who cares? He'll be in line with all of the others – with Mulciber and Crabbe and Wilkes and Nott. Just another one, waiting his chance to come and suck up to Cygnus, waiting to get his hands on the Black fortune." Her words are laden with bitterness, but she is so careful that none who were not close to her would be able to scent the emotion lain heavily in those words.

Lucius is perceptive. He turns to her with a half-glance, and when he speaks, his tone is full of emotion, and one which she has become increasingly used to hearing. "Bella…" She can hear the plea in his voice.

She cuts him short before he has the chance to argue his case once again, sweeping the grounds with her eyes. "Have you seen my cousin?" she changes the topic abruptly.

She can hear him sigh, and she is grateful when he chooses to respect her wishes and follow her lead. "I do believe that Regulus was slinking around somewhere near the Wilkes. No doubt, he is trying his utmost to make an impression." Only she can hear the subtle humour in his voice. Lucius makes no secret of his dislike for her male cousins, but is well-bred enough to express it with passive hostility rather than with outright animosity. She is charmed by his thoughtfulness, charmed how very patrician he is, by how he is the very epitome of what she should want. Rich, successful, the heir, and very, very handsome, Lucius Malfoy was perhaps the most eligible bachelor in magical Britain at this moment. She is not unaware of the fact that everyone's eyes are upon them right now, that they are watching and waiting to see what will happen, and neither is she unaware of the fact that they make a striking couple, he so tall and fair, she in possession of such dark beauty.

If only it was enough. Lucius may have been perfection itself, but he appeared within the horizon too late. Her heart is already in possession of another. "I meant Sirius," she clarified.

Lucius glanced at her out of the corner of his pale eyes, and once again, she is reminded of how very perceptive he could be, how he could sense things where there was almost nothing to be found. She is discomfited, and squirms under his searching gaze, flushed with slow fear. If he had discerned the truth…

To his credit, he brings up none of what he suspects. That might have been because what appeared to be the truth was indeed so outlandish that even he could not fully bring himself to accept it. Lucius, for all his virtues, is too narrow-minded, too focused on what is proper and right and acceptable, to truly understand willful, carefree Bella, who cares so little for society and its norms.

"We have not crossed paths as of yet," he replies smoothly, "A fact which I have yet to thank the gods for. It has not escaped my mind that it is only for the best."

A laugh escapes her at the sound of his arrogant humour. Lucius is this open only around those whom he trusts, and she feels, for a moment, privileged at being granted this honour. Then she remembers exactly why he treats her with such closeness, and her eyes shadow over with fatigue and tiredness. She carelessly disengages her arm from his, untangling the complex knot which they had formed with easy grace.

"I'll be off, then. I'm sure you have other guests to entertain," she reminds him of his duties as host even as she slips away, effortlessly insinuating herself into another party of young adults who had gathered nearby in order to avoid his searching, all-seeing gaze. She cannot shake off the memory of those pale eyes, which saw so much and revealed so little.

She spies her sister behind the wide coloumns that adorn the entrance to Malfoy Manor, and waves to her, a small frown marring her face when she notices who Narcissa is accompanied by. She never has had a good opinion of Avery, although he has always appeared relatively blameless. The number of times that he has been implicated in some or the other scandal are too numerous to be written off as mere coincidence, and she mentally reminds herself to keep an eye on her younger sister. She does not want her flesh and blood to be remembered as just another notch on someone's bedpost.

Her dark eyes, fringed with those heavy eyelashes, rove through the crowd until she finds her quarry. Easily striding through the crowd – it parts to let the esteemable Bellatrix Black through – she comes to stand behind him. "Regulus," his name drips as easily as honey from her painted lips.

He turns, flushed with the effort of attempting to sound wise enough to fit in with this gaggle of learned and experienced men. Regulus always did like to reach beyond where he could fit, his arms constantly grasping for an honour that he could not be granted. His eyes widen as he sees his beautiful and charming cousin standing beside him. It is not always that Bella deigns to grant him the privilege of her company, and almost never without him pressing for it. For her to seek him of her own accord seems to be nothing short of a miracle. "Bellatrix," he greets her, wide-eyed with surprise.

She is not unaware of his thought process, and her lip curls as she sees the wheels turn in his head, contemplating how he can use her presence to better manipulate his situation as of this moment. Regulus may have been her cousin, but she barely tolerates him, granting him with none of the love or the patience which she has for her sisters. He seems to her a pale imitation of his brother. It is not lost on her that Sirius would easily have been able to insinuate himself with the crowd into which Regulus is trying so hard to break, and with almost none of the effort. Sirius simply possessed the necessary aura. "Where is your brother?" Her tone is clipped, dismissive. She would waste no pleasantries on him.

He blinks, as though the question was unexpected. Certainly, that could not have been the case. Even their rather negligent parents have not failed to notice Bella's closeness to her unruly cousin, and none have ceased to be surprised by it. Although Bella is willful, she contains none of Sirius' forceful disdain, none of his almost aggressive rejection of the society into which they were both born.

"Brother has seen it fit to avoid today's gathering," Regulus sounds contemptuous. "Completely disregarding by how much it must hurt mother to appear here today without her firstborn… But then again, he was never very concerned about other's feelings, was he? He snuck out of home this morning, something about visiting a certain Lupin. It would almost have been better if he had been to see Potter, because even Potter is here."

That is true, she dimly realizes. She can see the Potter boy lounging around on the steps, surrounded by his own gaggle of giggling girls. She even sees the Longbottoms wandering around, Frank with a forced smile on his face. Only Sirius, it seems, has decided to skip the visit.

She feels disappointment land on her then, crushing with its weight. He had known that she would be here today – he had known that she would wait for him, that she would search for his company. He had known, and still, he had chosen to abandon her and go off gadding with another one of those friends of his who were unworthy of even being invited to the Malfoy bash. She felt anger rise in her heart, the familiar rush of it echoing in her ears.

She had not had a free moment with him in months. Ever since they had made up since that fateful conversation when he had broken her wrist – and oh, what sweet reconciliation that had been! – he had been out of touch. For winter break, he had swept off to France with his father in a rare display of filial obedience, leaving her to suffer through her father's scheming machinations on her own. It was only through the skin of her teeth that she had managed to wriggle out of an engagement to Thomas Nott, and that was only by flirting so brazenly that many other prospective suitors had seen it fit to send Cygnus Black a missive stating that they were very interested in his eldest daughter.

When they had returned to school, he had all but ignored her, bustling around with his rag-tag friends. He had even chosen to skip their secret meetings in Hogwarts' many empty rooms, and she had waited long for him to make an appearance, each time slinking to bed in the middle of the night with a heart weighed down by stone. He had avoided her during the day, even refrained from insulting her group of acquaintances – anything to avoid having to interact with her.

She had chalked it up to unbelievable reasons, first citing his need to concentrate on Quidditch, and then on his need to study in order to improve his grades. As he had continued to ignore her, she had found herself wildly grasping at the slenderest of possibilities, her mind clutching at straws. None of them seemed probable, or even possible. Sirius spent just as much time as he had before making merry, but this time, he did not spare even a little time for Bella.

And now – when they had finally been on break, free from the harsh constraints of school and of house loyalties – when they were in the same country; this would have been the first party of the season, the first time she could have seen him, and he had chosen to skip it.

She felt rage well up within her heart, accompanied by not a little panic. It was due to her realization of a single pressing fact which she had willfully chosen to ignore for so many months, the realization of one of her single greatest fears: she had become irrelevant.

Irrelevant to the man to whom she had sworn to dedicate her life to! Irrelevant to the one for whom she had jumped through so many loopholes, suffered such harsh punishment, had even flirted with the risk of permanent disgrace and fall in the societal structure for. He had chosen, instead, to ignore her, to disgrace her, to treat her as though she was nothing more than a wallflower, as though she wasn't worth his attention.

She felt her back stiffen with bruised pride, lips twisting in a rather unbecoming sneer. She was Bellatrix Black. She was no one's wallflower. She was always, always the star of the room, a cynosure, the one who could demand the most attention, and no one, not even Sirius Black, could change that.

She lifted her head haughtily, heavily lids glancing at Regulus with such disdain that he squirmed beneath the weight of her dismissive gaze. Lifting her hand slightly in farewell – he was worth nothing more, this cousin of hers, and neither was his brother, she thought viciously – she made her way through the crowd, pushing aside those who stood in her way. The roar of anguished pride screamed through her ears, and dimly, she was aware of the fact that her caprice would seem rather unseemly, but she found that she did not care. When had she cared for the thoughts of these insignificant worms, anyway? She was a Black, and being a Black was all that you could wish for in this world.

She found the person she sought, and let her fingers curl around his upper arm possessively, forcibly disengaging himself from his current partner. He turned to her, a look of stiffened surprise dawning across his pale face, a blond eyebrow arched high at her unexpected familiarity. Rarely did allow anyone such discretions.

"Bella," he greeted her, surprise colouring his rich voice. She let it wash over her, comforted by the utter attention that she felt in those words, scornfully regarding the girl who stood fuming behind him. Pertha Parkinson could never hold a candle to Bellatrix Black, could never compare to her grace and liveliness.

She tore her eyes from the livid girl, smirking as she looked up into her companion's face. "Lucius," she drawled, voice heavy and smooth, thick as liquid honey. She could see his eyes widen, his breath quicken, at the tone she used, and she reveled in the petty knowledge that she could have this effect on a man such as him. "We have not danced yet," she reminded him, eyes sparkling wickedly, charmingly, disastrously.

He wrapped an arm around her slender waist, and in his haste, could only offer the most perfunctory graces to Pertha, preoccupied as he was with Bellatrix. When the latter wanted, she could have the world at her feet. Bellatrix was not, and could never be, insignificant.

She dimly recognized that her actions could be misconstrued, and that she would be the subject of much scuttlebutt, but then she realized that she did not care. Her pride had been wounded, her insouciant demeanor threatened. She pathetically thought – and truly believed – that she had been treated rather iniquitously, and her intransigent personality, that splendid and powerful force of nature, asserted itself with the trademark Black hauteur. She would not let anyone upstage her. She would make Sirius see that she was not irrelevant, that she was still the star of all upper Magical society – and who better to do it with than handsome Lucius Malfoy, who, on top of being utterly irresistible, was also Sirius' sworn rival?

She smiled charmingly and allowed herself to be led out on the dance floor.